A Reluctant Hand
by LadyRandz
Summary: Basically, this is where my mind went when someone said that they ship me with Tyrion. Shamelessly, we work our way through The Game of Thrones. "When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die." Working out the rules of the game, this is likely going to be rated M, once I'm comfortable enough to write some parts. Tyrion/OC [TyrKi]
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So I just recently started watching GoT and one of my dearest friends on Tumblr said that he shipped me with Tyrion Lannister. My initial opinion on him was not favourable in the least, but it was very easy to quickly fall in love with The Imp. I bring you, my incredibly disturbing fictional memoirs of TyrKi, or "What would have went down if Kiki actually got to live out her GoT fantasies"**

**Prompted by my dear Biderbeck, this idea poked at me and I had to give in, despite not knowing where it's going to take me, & having my terrible track record with finishing stories, I'm too invested with seeing how this plays out.**

* * *

He stormed into the room, furious and frustrated. Running a hand through his hair, he slammed the door and unfastened his collar. Sighing with frustration, he notices me with a hint of surprise, barely enough for me to notice. I make my displeasure evident; I am neither willing, nor a whore, but circumstances force all our hands, and in my case, my hand was forced into servitude.

"What is your name, and who brought you here?" he barks, and for a man of his stature, it pains me to suppress my ire to see him speak so to the likes of me. Unfortunately, I must hold my tongue, no matter how obstinate.

"Kiara Kiernan, my lord. I was brought into your quarters as a gift, by a fat and rather beguiling man, even if his pleasantness did seem a little forced." I explain while pouring him a glass of wine. I sniff at it quickly, sensing it has indeed been untampered with. It would do me no good if he were to be incapacitated so soon. I pass him the goblet with a clear conscience and kneel to undress him.

"What is this, and what are you doing, girl? I do find it odd that you are undressing me while your own clothes sit fittingly atop yourself." He is skeptical, astute. This reassures me to no small end. Perhaps it would not be so trying an effort after all.

"Rest your mind, my lord, I seek to only bring you the comfort you seek after a trying day at court. Am I wrong to assume you enjoy some wine to ease your mind?" I try to evade his other question, as I do not want to simply come out and say that I find nudity distasteful, as is copulation. I have placed a robe over his shoulders and guide him to the bathing quarters. "I have drawn you a bath milord, and would be pleased to service you there." I hope he does not make assumptions here. It would do me no good. However, I was relieved to see the whore who was brought in for his entertainment before I arrived was still here, like I'd hoped. It felt like the gods were finally smiling down upon me today, and I was grateful.

As he entered the tub, sighing with pleasure, I smiled. The whore, I could not be bothered to learn her name, stepped forward, smiling brazenly, her shoulders slung back, thrusting out her meagre bosom as an offering to entice the Lannister. And as did every man before him, succumb he did. Sickening me, but then again, there was little in my life of late that I did not find sickening or unpleasant. And so, I set about to my task.

I poured in some oils after warming them over a candle I had set nearby for my use, rubbing some rose oil in my hands first, concentrating on my task. It would do me no good to get distracted by the sounds and actions taking place in front of me, and to create a dissonance of scents that would agitate the dwarf. My own feelings had to be put aside for the moment, and I had to win over Tyrion Lannister. I started with his feet, perching myself at the back of the tub, grateful for its size and the ease with which it granted me to performing my ministrations.

His appreciative moans gave me my own pleasure, and I worked with renewed zeal. At this moment, he believed the whore to be the cause of his heightened pleasure, and he would surely be thinking to request for her, exclusively, at least for now. I would be fine with this, as it would suit my purposes perfectly. She already responded positively to my requests before, and I saw us working in harmony.

His brow furrowed as I moved away, aiming to reposition myself behind his head, so I could work on his shoulders and back next. The smile I had earlier now developed into a smirk. _It seems that his body is already attuned to my touch, even if his mind hasn't arrived at this conclusion yet._ I reapplied some oils to my hands as I moved to work on his back, rubbing sensuously but without vigour. I did not need him to focus on the sensations I was bringing him. As I worked upwards towards his neck, I allowed myself to survey my surroundings once more, a mistake that I would commit often, I thought to myself.

The whore's face was contorted into a look of pure ecstasy, an emotion I did not envy to experience but to cause. It was easy to get lost in the emotions, the lust, the pleasure, but I had to focus. I chastised myself internally, my self-directed anger exacerbated by the confusion I could sense in my patron.

Experimenting with a slight amount of jasmine, vanilla, infused into the milky oil of coconuts, I delved into his hair, luscious locks of a dirty blonde, darkening in places but the colour reminiscent of sunshine to my nostalgic mind. This part was always my favourite, and I allowed myself to savour the moment, getting lost in the shared orgasmic entropy of pleasure as they both climaxed, both genuinely for once. As she rose to leave, her duty done, he asked her for her name.

"Neela, ser," she mewled in that high pitched tone of hers that she obviously forced, no doubt thinking it rendered her endearing. Endearing to what, I would never know, for all it reminded me of were lame cats, the sort that disturb your sleep and render you ill-tempered for hours after you wake. His facial expression seemed to mirror my thoughts, as she hurriedly gathered her loose robe and hurried out.

Apprehensive of this moment, I screwed my will and set to finish off my work. Bringing out a fresh sponge I had gathered, I soaked it in water then poured in it some oil infused milk I had prepared while he collected himself.

"You have so many bottles about you for a whore or service maid. What in the seven hells are you doing?"

"They are bottled oils, essences of flowers and other plants purported to have magical healing properties, milord."

"Purported? So you do not believe they work and yet you still use them?" he smirked, believing he had stumbled me.

"No milord, they serve their purpose, I just do not believe any magic is involved." I smile demurely, trying to placate his ire. I had always been told my tongue was too sharp for someone of my station. Oh well. Holding out a hand in front of him, I rub the milk and oil-soaked sponge along his arm, revelling in the aromas surrounding me.

"And the milk, what purpoe does it serve?" he raises an eyebrow, inhaling the scent, no doubting rallying further questions to fire at me.

"Goat's milk softens the skin and soothes the body, milord. In addition to the soothing properties of the lavendar flower's oil, and the calming effects of the oils of fennel and aniseed, this infusion is designed to clear your mind while the citrus helps to cleanse you body. " I bow my head slightly, not out of subservience but to hide my growing smirk. But he has been placated, and I have completed my task without too much ardour; I am glad for his line of questioning, as it had given me something to focus on besides the naked state of his lordship.

I hold up his robe as he rises out of the tub, and admire his stature discreetly while he covers up. He is a dwarf, there's no way about it, but he doesn't carry himself as such. I had no thoughts as to if it were his lineage, as I'd oft heard that Lannisters were amongst the highest social standing, even if they were accompanied by tales of how poorly the queen carried herself, and carried on with her brother. This man before me looked more a product of his own upbringing, a noble air about him that was his own, and I shivered, finding his presence both exhilarating and frightening. I would indeed have to be careful.

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_Well? Please do leave me your thoughts. They're pretty much the only reason I put it here_


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I have never been more excited lately as I was when I got all these emails, telling me people had finally responded in some way or the other. Now, I am disappointed that I only got 2 reviews, but those 2 reviews made me so darn happy...**

**I do feel the need to clarify, however, that Tyrion Lannister's first appearance in the show did not endear him to me. He won me over though, and I am now having trouble with these stupid-ass possessive feelings I keep getting for the guy**

* * *

I had quickly grown accustomed to the castle, like a cat, I'd fast learned to land on my feet and hit the ground running. That's not to say that I was thriving, or had even made myself a home. No, I would not be home for a while yet, and I'd learned to adapt to that, unlike The Beggar King.

The castle maids and the Coin Maester's whores had all learned quickly of my talents, the one I had marketed, at least. Thankfully, my other Talent was still my own secret to keep. And so, my days were filled with work, honest work, and no coin was traded but favours were promised and loyalties were bought, which suited me fine, as they paid much better than monies could. Occasionally, some of the better off whores would pay me, no doubt they felt uncomfortable to be me in my debt, and I would not deign to placate them - why would I? I made no promises, brokered no hopes than the ones I knew I could fulfil, and I was content.

One evening, within the first fortnight of my arrival, I had disappointedly looked upon my stocks and realised I had almost depleted my stores of oils and herbs. It seemed that I would be calling in my first favour on the morrow, but first I had to clear up the issue with my warden, I suppose. I decided to wait out my time by looking over my stores and ledgers, and make a list of what I needed and how much of it I would need.

* * *

I had learned to service Ser Lannister with an easy demeanor and an easier wit, and although it pained me to admit, I had come to enjoy this routine. I tried spicing his wines once, and was rewarded with interest for my efforts. He made it easy to fall for this barely charmed lifestyle, allowing me free reign to experiment on him, encouraging my imagination, and making me lose sight of my worries. And I knew that before long, I would fall for him, and knowing that it had been barely 2 weeks since I met him, that made this all that much harder.

Living in wartime meant 2 things: the first being that loyalties made or broken at this time were magnified manifold, and the second being that loves and losses were quickly made and just as easily broken. I learned the hard way that love just meant the losses hurt that much harder. It was easy to give up the reign of The Mad King, because there was no love for him, and this pattern picked up with the following king, and his successor especially. I suspect no one would be sad to see King Joffrey lose his throne, save the Child King himself.

As I poured his wine this evening, I was troubled while I contemplated these troubling thoughts and it showed. Tyrion focused on my face as I dsitractedly undressed him and draped him in his customary robe. "Speak child, of what ails you. It is hardly conducive to my mood to see your normally untroubled face twisted up with such worry."

"Do not deign to trouble your mind with my worries ser, for they are nothing but my own womanly woes. I shall prepare your bath, my ser." I duck my head shyly, going to indeed prepare his bath as I knew he enjoyed. Sometime in the past week he took note of my discomfort and chose to rut with his whore in private, encouraging me to take the time to prepare the bath instead. He seemed to prefer this arrangement himself, giving him the unspoiled opportunity to enjoy two sensual experiences as opposed to poorly combining both experiences. I shall not lie to myself, it did make me feel better but not because I avoided the uncomfortableness of his sexual encounters, but because I got to savour his sensual pleasure all to myself.

As I work on his shoulders and back, I am unable to suppress my thoughts any longer. "I will need to go outside the city walls tomorrow, to gather flowers and herbs for my stock," I blurt out quickly, unable to recognise the reason for my nervousness. He stiffens, momentarily, and this just exacerbates my nerves, "I ought to be a day, but I plan to remain out overnight."

He sounds like he has an argument on his tongue, but whatever words or thoughts he has evaporate when I begin on his scalp massage. I cannot express how much pleasure it brings me to see his face so serene, the smallest of smiles gracing his face and on some occasions, he is unable to stop a slight moan from escaping, and I am absolutely thrilled.

Eventually he remembers our conversation and speaks,"why can't you simply procure them from the marketplace? It is unsafe to travel outside of the castle walls and especially overnight. Do you plan on going unaccompanied? Why am I only hearing of this now?"

I cannot help but smile at his line of questioning, and so I do not attempt to mask it, however I do not allow myself to sound overly enthused. "I much prefer to gather the materials myself, and thus have more control of the quality I receive, and I have made the trip unaccompanied many a time, but I will not be alone." I paused, looking at my hands. "And pause your paranoid delusions, ser. You only hear of this now because I only recently discovered that my supplies are low." I am holding up his robe as he steps into it, and he smirks as he meets my blushing gaze, catching me trying to ogle his form discreetly.

"Enjoy yourself then? And tomorrow as well, I suppose." He is pleased with himself, believing himself a victor over my sensibilities.

"Thank you ser." I duck my head demurely. No need to fuel his imagination one way or the other, after all.

* * *

I am pleased to be done my errand, and return with unbidden anxiety. My warden, my ward, I do not linger on these thoughts willingly. Tyrion Lannister has lived his years successfully and free from much harm before me, so what difference is there now? But in my mind I know, he has always been in danger, and his luck can run out at any time. And this knowledge, once more, unbidden, lies in the back of my mind and hastens my return.

Where once the wilderness was my shelter, I now saw danger. Where the water was my refuge, I saw treachery. And where the walls were my prison, I now saw...I do not know what I saw in those walls, but I knew that I could not bear to remain the night away from my quarters within the Maester's walls. And still I refuse to acknowledge why.

I snuck into the house, adjoining the brothel where my fellow maids and whores rested. I knew it was the stupidest thing I could do, but still, temptation persevered. I peeked into his bedchamber, where my Ser Lannister rested, and my breath caught. There, in the shadows nearby his head, stood a masked man, and although I could not see what it was he was doing, I immediately knew his intent, but I also knew that whatever death he was dealing, it was not meant to be immediate, and so I stood still, and awaited this hostile stranger's departure.

I cautiously approached Tyrion's bed, and held my breath for fear I would scream - I was never accused of being level-headed in the best of situations, I did not relish another midnight terror - and searched for the weapon. Locating the poisonous arachnid, I lifted the scorpion cautiously, grateful for my affinity to don leather gloves when working in the fields. My Lannister shall live to see another day, and I would be present to great him to it.

_Please, do review. _


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I've been conflicted when writing this, since I've only recently stumbled into the GoTverse and I'm learning of more and more things everyday, and I have to say a lot of the things bother me, but I can't simply ignore them. I wish I could, but I need to explain them away first and it just makes me feel like I'm blathering on and on. **

**I greatly treasure your reviews, they are like the garlic butter to my toast, and dear lord, I'm eating it all up. Thank you :D**

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I was bitter that he was unaware of my efforts to saving his life, even if this sentiment was at odds with my reticence towards his attentions. The following days were rather dull in comparison, and I found I preferred the cacophony of danger to the threatening silence we were surrounded in. I had learned of his whore, a lady named Shae, and some personal investigation had uncovered of his dealings with the ladies in the castles. Of course I am possessive, it is the very reason I was in this mess to begin with.

I was horrified to learn of the fate of one his previous favourites, a red-haired wench-turned-madam by the name of Roz, and her story further intensified my resolve to bring down the Child King. I had no care for who sat on the Iron Throne ultimately, but I had stong reservations for those in power who wielded it abusively. And the impending nuptials of the Stark child to my warden was an issue that did not sit well with me, on either front. I felt overwhelmed, and knew I had my work cut out for me.

One evening, not 4 days since the last failed attempt on his life, Ser Tyrion walked in, seemingly ruffled and out of sorts while I brooded about, sulking over the fact that he would never know of my devotion. But apparently someone else was even more bitter than I, over the fact that he had survived.

"Good evening, milord. You look as though someone had thought to stuff your boots with goat dung before you wore them. What ails your mind?"

He dismissed my comment with a distraced wave of his hand, then turned to face me. "Apparently, the fact that I am both alive and well is a somewhat surprising matter to the king. Which makes me wonder if another attempt on my life will be made. And these are issues I would much rather not occupy my mind with at the present moment." I look away, fidgeting nervously. "Have you any idea on such matters?"

"No, Ser," I stammer out lamely. "I have seen nothing untoward as of late." I punctuate this sentiment by looking away and refusing to meet his eye.

"Ah, well, it seems my luck has indeed returned then." he smiles knowingly, and my heart aches. "Come, let us play a game. A drinking game." And I shake my head vigourously, trying to dissuade him from this train of thought. I cannot afford to play, nor can I afford to drink; any shields I have at any time are demolished when any wines touch my tongue and I am inebriated by the lightest of libations.

A tall man strides into the quarters and finds his seat easily, with an air of familiarity. It disconcerts me greatly to see a man so tall, I am so taken with my dwarf. "Well hello then, I did not expect to find you entertaining when you called for me. Shall I go then?" this man smiles easily, and I find my earlier apprehension melting away. I unwittingly return the smile and Tyrion smirks in that frustating way of his when he finds something amusing.

"I see you have managed to break through the icy barrier of this one much faster than I did then, Bronn?"

"A woman has proved immune to your charms, Tyrion? Preposterous!" this Bronn looks at me scrutinisingly. This of course, makes me squirm, and I move to leave the room. "No, girl, do not dream of leaving. Sit, drink, and be merry!" he chuckled. I blushed scarlet and moved to bring forth the pitcher of wine I had prepared for today, hoping to curry some favour or at least some cheer from my Maester. I poured the wine, hoping the spiced apples would be to their liking, and tried to back away. Bronn tried to guide me into his lap and a look of abject terror struck my face before Tyrion dove in between us and guided me to another seat, his mouth a grim line of displeasure. I ought to give him my thanks later. Excepting that he placed a goblet in front of me, and moved my hand to pour it. Oh, this man would be getting none of my thanks now.

"Well then, the rules of the game are thus; we each take a drink then we ask of the other a question. If one chooses not to answer, they must take another, drink or question is their own choice." he raises his glass as he takes his seat, and I am filled with morbid dread. This will not end well for me. And still I drink. Seven Hells.

"Where are you from, girl." Tyrion starts, predictably. I sigh, and smirk. To a Lannister, of course I would appear exotic. "From right here, Ser. Born and raised right here in King's Landing." Of course, I was also of exotic blood, but no one needed to know of my lineage here, did they?

"What's yer story then, girl?" Bronn boomed, startling us both.

"I do not believe that is how the game is played, ser." I stifled a giggle. "By that token, what is your story, ser?" I look over at Tyrion, who is glancing away with unease. "No, I believe I shall aim my question at you, milord. Your marriage to Lady Stark, is it one of love or of convenience?"

His face dropped all emotion at this. He took a drink from his goblet and wiped his mouth, his lips a grim line of displeasure."There is no love lost between us Lannisters and the Starks, and there is nothing convenient about this union either."

Bronn broke the silence once more, and ordered us to take another drink, and from there the night has become a blurry haze. At some point during the evening, I suppose I lost my wits and inhibitions, and climbed into his lap and professed my feelings for him, because the next morning I am awoken in his bed, fully clothed, but still. I am not in my own sleeping quarters, away from him and all the feelings he awakens, oh no, I am right in the lion's den.

I am startled, to say the least and I scuttle to the end of the bed, before I promptly fall off the edge of the bed, and he rouses from his slumber, eyes awash with sleep, but his mind has awoken fully, it seems. And much to my displeasure, he was aware of our positions in sleep, and I could not simply pretend to not have held onto him in sleep. No, there was no escaping the reality of it all.

"I trust you have rested well?" he asks cockily, and I am unable to take it any longer. So I run.

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**_Guys, if you're reading this, and it made you pause, pleeease drop me a few words, even if they are anon. I need feedback like Pooh needs honey_**

**_AN 2: I am contemplating adding a naughtier scene in the next chapter, but I feel like it might be too soon...thoughts, anybody?_**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So my prompter *waves* HI JOE! has hinted at the necessity of the dive into the lemony deep end, and I have to say, for a number of reasons, I agree with this end, this chapter falls on the more M side of the rating, but I don't know just how M it is to officially bump up the rating.  
**

**It has also been brought to my attention that a number of fans are avid watchers of the show but have not read the books, and I need to mention that the events I am writing are set in canonical timeline even if there is an OC (me. There is no way I am canonically in the series, sadly) but are further than the timeline of the show, so if you have not read the books, there is the possibility of some aspects being spoiled in the future. As of yet, this fic remains by and large spoiler free, but I'm warning you for future reference. **

* * *

I knew I could not avoid him, and in fact I had to return a mere handful of hours later, my head hanging low and throbbing with the maginitude of an entire Dothraki Khalasar riding into war. I had hoped that he would be merciful, and hold his tongue on the possibly mortifying turn of events last night, but no such luck would be bestowed upon me. However at the present moment I had more pressing matters at hand, such as preventing the murderous wench who seemed intent on beheading my Lannister.

Bursting into the room with frantic desperation upon realising the grunts I heard were not ones of pleasurable exertion, I was in a state of panic for the briefest of moments then I gathered my wits and jumped to his aid, throwing the the whore on the floor. The look of surprise on her face quickly gave way to anger, and she immediately leapt onto me, her initial target forgotten. Unfortunately for me, I was in a sluggish state of mind and did not think to protect myself. Unfortunately for my assailant, my Ser Lannister was not similarly hindered and quickly brought his hands to her head and twisted until we both heard the tell-tale crack of bones rending.

My eyes wide with shock, my chest heaving, I lock eyes with him, and maybe it is my resolve snapping, or maybe it's my impaired judgement, or maybe, just maybe, I am making all these excuses in my head because I fear the consequences, but whatever it was holding me back before is gone, and I launch myself at him. My lips find his instinctively, and our kiss is anything but appropriate; hurried, passionate, desperate, gentle, and filled with so much yearning, it makes me ache.

When my wits catch up to me, I pull back, mortified, and immediately attempt to stammer out my apologies. He smirks, but its power is diminished by the slight quiver to his lip, and rebukes me for my hesitation,"just last night you sat on my very lap and professed your undying devotion or some other tripe, and now you're being coy with me?" I squeal with mortification, burying my face in my hands upon hearing his words and mutter repeatedly, "You were not meant to hear that, seven hells why did I tell you?"

He sighs, prompting me to look up but I cannot hold his gaze and drop mine to the floor shyly, where I see the dead whore. I look up at him this time and swallow my dread. "So, I propose we move this out of the way then?" and this breaks the spell. We both look around awkwardly, shifting nervousy until he clears his throat. "Go find Podrick, and tell him to bring Bronn. Go clean yourself up if you must, take whatever time you need, but make your way back here swiftly."

Nodding my head quickly, I hurry out of the room to find the squire. The awkward boy is not too hard to find and I quickly deliver the message then scurry off, my mind whirling. This is not at all conducive to our efforts, and I needed to convene with my confidant to regroup and adapt our plans.

* * *

Barely an hour or so later, I returned, and the room was as it normally was, with not a single cushion out of place. While I silently admired the efficiency of the sell-sword, I fought to keep myself upright. During the course of events we went through I was distracted from my body's pains, but now they had returned with full force. Hunched over and screwing my eyes shut, I leaned on the table and began taking deep breaths, not that this would actually help, but it served as a fleeting distraction that helped me cope.

Rushing towards the door to make certain it was shut, Tyrion then moved towards me concernedly. "Are you alright? What is it?" he fusses, endearingly, and I want to kiss him for it. It seems every other thing this dwarf of a man does recently has that effect on me.

"Just an ache in the head, it will go away on its own, do not worry milord." I assure him, but the sentiment loses merit when I collapse, the pain wracking its toll on me. He catches me, rather awkwardly, it should be noted, but he catches me all the same, and were I more conscious of it I would have swooned.

"Let's get you on the bed, you silly wench. Someone in your condition has no business being on their feet." He coaxes me into his bed and I grudgingly welcome the comfort of his luxurious bed. He climbs in after me and seats himself by my head, soothingly stroking my head as I fall into a fitful sleep, and for a few moments, I know peace.

xXxXx

Unfortunately, again, this peace does not last any length of time and I am awoken shortly after, a sleep-terror rousing me from my sub-conscious and the pain bringing me to the brink of insanity, and I scream. Bronn strides into the room, followed by Tyrion, each with reserved looks of worry etching their faces. Podrick stands near the door, the terror-stricken look on his face not masked by forced indifference and it would have made me chuckle, were I not thrashing about in obvious agony.

Bronn quickly scoops me up and brings me to the bath chamber, no hesitation in his stride, and he deposits me in the water, no doubt trying to be gentle but this all startles me and I am unbelievaby _angry_. Why in the seven hells was I struck with this awful hindrance, one almost nobody whose company I kept knew to deal with, AND WHY DID I KEEP THE COMPANY OF SUCH IMBECILES! I roared with pain and both men confused it for shyness, my heightened sense of modesty giving off that impression.

The Squire, Podrick, bless his soul, rushed forth with a cup, no doubt holding some of that cursed wine. Tyrion looks disgusted by the seeming stupidity of the boy, and tells him as much, "No, you fool. That's what got her in this to begin with," but I reach out a hand for the slow poison and take a large gulp, and gasp. Both Bronn and Podrick file out of the room, while Tyrion continues to fuss over me.

I look him over, appreciation and gratitude flooding my mind as my eyes take him in, until the blasted drink's effects take over and my gaze turns lusty with long-suppressed desire. He is currently trying to undress me, no doubt because he believes I can scarcely breathe in my skin-molding garments of leather bandaged to my torso and ending on the upper portions of my thighs, but my mind has gone to mush and I stupidly try to undress him in return. A part of my mind looks on at my actions with horror and impotently screams out to cease my actions, to cover up, to cower, but the larger part of my conscious ignores that and finally allows me to go forth with my innermost instincts.

As he unbinds the last of my wrappings he realises what I am doing, and noting the the lust-filled look in my eyes, he quirks his lips in a small smile and watches me, not even trying to stop my hands. I reach forward with my lips, coming towards him for a kiss and I close my eyes, and see the fires of a thousand sun and stars dancing behind my eyelids. He chastely keeps his hands on my face, only venturing his fingers to stroke my hair, and I pull back, sobering up. And for once, I do not panic, or run, but sigh tiredly, and rest my forehead on his shoulder.

He is already nude, and standing by me on the brink of the bath, and I simply look around wordlessly, moving toward my pack of oils and other tools and bring out his sponge, and drop in some oil of vanilla and even less of citrus, I move towards him and he steps into the bath, for once, sparing me from any words. I continue my ritual of bathing him in silence, when he turns to me, having taken hold of his sponge, he gives me a meaningful look and I turn, offering him my back which he gently touches with the sponge. And he clumsily does this for a few moments until I hear him succumb to a shiver, and I jump out, holding his robe for him. The silence continues while he steps into his robes and I hold his gaze this time, my cheeks ablaze but my resolve iron-strong. He looks about and realises just as I do that I have no robe with which to exit, and my leather clothing is not comfortable in my current still-wet state. "Wait here." he orders and hurries away, and I oblige, sitting by the edge of the bath and contemplating my circumstances.

We have come close, so many times, and each time I have been reticent. And yet, each time his lust-filled gaze sweeps over me, I strain to contain myself. I want this, and I know, so does he. The ghosts of my pasts haunt me each time I allow myself to think about what is happening, and yet when I allow myself to give in to the lust, to the pure instinct, my hesitation disappears. So why do I punish myself still? Why do I punish him? And more than that, oh gosh, I really, really wanted him.

I am brought out of my reverie when he taps on my shoulder, and I turn to face him, and smile. I pull on the robe over my shoulders, and pick up my pack with one hand, and hold his hand with the other, and lead him towards his chamber. I will not allow any words to distract us, and I am certain my newfound boldness has a time limit upon which my meekness would surely return.

I climb into his bed while dropping the robe uncermoniously on the floor, and I turn back to watch him. He is a dwarf, and I know that by most standards, he is not very handsome, or even moderately attractive, but to me, he is beautiful. And in that precise moment, he is the most desirable man in this world and any others. I lean forward to kiss him, rendered insatiable to his lips, and I just know, of all the things I have done, this is the most right.

He frames my head in his misproportionately large hands, and strokes my cheek with the gentlest of caresses. This look in his eyes, it humbles me, that someone can aim their gaze at another with such ardency, not a look filled with love, but lust. And it relieves me, because I can rest assured that he is not so foolish a man to aim my affections and hopes at, that he would be taken by a veritable stranger, so easily.

I know he is a man accustomed to whores, patronising prostitutes for a variety of reasons, and accustomed to being sexually serviced, and of all my hesitations, this would easily be one of them. However, Tyrion surprised me by laying me down gently, and hovering over me as he planted kisses along my neck, shoulder, my hand that he held in his, and he turns his cheek into my palm and I want to scream with yearning, he is being exactly the kind of sweet man I would have needed _then. _

I touch him tentatively, with the touch of a virgin I have not really been in years, storing this entire moment in my memory forever. His hands skim over me, touching me reverently, arousing me past the point of return and I am going mad. When I cannot stand it any longer, I pull him down on top of me and the logistics of the situation strikes me and I want to chuckle, until I feel his fingers upon me in a manner so intimate I gasp. And he works me up, playing my body like a finely-tuned delicate instrument, and I have never been one to suppress my emotions well, my screams deafening until I bite on the pillow, keening wildly.

When I have reached heaven upon his fingertips a few times and I want to scream at him to stop, he enters me swiftly and I see the stars once more, and oh by the gods, I could die now with a smile on my face. He is done soon after I climax once more and I am grateful, because my breathing is ragged and I feel like I just may actually die. I suppose I may have learned that too much of a good thing may just kill you. I turn to face him, a stupid smile gracing my features as I am certain I am incapable of much else, and I kiss his lips, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

His smile is its regular self, and this scares me; was this not as world-shattering to him as it was to me? And I feel stupid, and a flood of self-loathing overcomes me, and I turn to leave, willing my tears to remain at bay at least until I can cry in private. But he reaches out a hand to me, grabbing hold of my arm. "Where can you go at this time? In fact, after what I heard, how can you think, let alone move?" he smirks, and I am relieved, again.

I turn back to him and grin, my remorse forgotten, but a yawn escapes and I am mortified. Instead, he reaches out to stroke my cheek, absent-mindedly playing with my hair and I feel a wave of drowsiness wash over me, "Don't fight it, dear girl. Sleep, my Kiara," were the last words I heard before I fell into a blissful sleep.

* * *

_You know the standard sign off - drop me a review. I do this to get better at my writing, and if you won't tell me when and how I suck, I can't stop doing it, now can I?_


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